Pawn
by Gorish
Summary: October 31st, 1981, a date inscribed within history. A marking place for the beginning of a struggle for power. From the hands of the resistance, to a quiet existence, Hadrian Potter moved through life unnoticed, and determined to push away his past. But as the spell that binds his gift begins to wane, he finds himself thrown back into a game of war, and dark desires.
1. Chapter I

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter is under the rightful ownership of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. All mentioned characters, organizations, places, and such material is reserved to the creators of it. This disclaimer will apply to later chapters as well, but reiteration will not be present. This story was inspired under the enlightenment of a snippet of a challenge, a dream of a twisted society and nation on the brink of immutable war, and a photograph of a man. With such factors _Pawn _was conceived and brought forth to the world for judgment. This story, was also, inspired by Little Seer by HuskyWalker. My intention, of course, is not to plagiarize from this story but rather to use an idea similar to it.

**Updater Note**: This is a Work In Progress and will remain to be so until completion and revision. I'm estimating the overall weight of this story to measure to 250,000; though it may prove to be more. Chapters will be posted once they are complete or the 5k mark had been breached. I apologize in advance for spelling mistakes, grammatical errors, or anything else of that nature – without a Beta at hand, and little time to extensively review each chapter numerous times over, mistakes are inevitable.

**Resources**: _The Legacy of Nazism:_ _The Economic and Social Consequences of Totalitarianism _byFrank Munk.

_The Speeches of Adolf Hitler (April 1922-August 1939)_ by Norman H. Baynes

_Vol. I Nazism, 1919-1945: A History _by J. Noakes and G. Pridham

_The Holocaust: Death Camps _by Tamara L. Roleff

_Nazism: An Assault on Civilization _by Van Paassen

**Warning**: Slash (not till much later, but a major plot component), violence, child abuse / neglect, attempted rape, major and minor character deaths, mentions of incest, genocide, scenes of dehumanization, suicide, and drug w/ alcohol dependance. Please be aware this story relies heavily on angst as it will play into the theme of war and murder. If your expectations were of a story to cuddle up to without graphic descriptions of the warnings prior listed, than this will not suit your taste in the slightest. Anyhow, reviews are always appreciated so please kindly do so. Enjoy.

* * *

Chapter I

.

"_Now there has come the sad realization that hate cannot be extinguished overnight."_

— Robert F. Wagner

.

**I**

"We all know what makes us strong. It was not mechanical organization, it was no external confession of the lips which sought to reason, but the strength which lies in the idea of our Movement, the strength which has won over thousands and hundreds of the thousands of hearts. Some call it understanding, others call it instinct to survive what cannot be changed, and we call it faith in what we hold to be true. What we have achieved on this day is stupendous, and with it a future of greatness has been forged. However, the future will continue to demand sacrifices for our very world itself will no longer be based upon on a doctrine of indolence, but a doctrine of battle; it will not be built on luck and chance, but of work and effort, and thus also sacrifice. This was out view long before the battle, and in these last three years it has not altered, and so in the future it will remain. On this day the Movement can give this guarantee to the British citizens of magic: The sacrifices which you, our fellow citizens, make will no longer be in vain, but from these sacrifice you will win yourselves a new life."

He understood not the words that been spoken, or the meaning that wavered behind them, but he did notice the sudden silence that took the crowd and the frightening expression on both his father and godfather's faces. In their eyes he saw the emotions of anger and rising fear, watched as the muscles in their unshaven faces twitched and twisted. Curious as he was as to why they were behaving so strangely, yet also intrigued by the speaker up ahead, he slipped his hand from the sweat limped grasp of his father, and made over toward the stage overhead. The throng of adult men and women were oblivious to his jabbing elbows and quiet huffs of struggle as he pushed and forced his way closer to where they all gathered, till at last he broke through the crowd and stumbled forward.

The stage, he saw, was grand as well as tall. Constructed of white wood that gleamed with a polished surface, it rose above him by several inches, the top of his head barely visible to those who stood atop it. Which was fine with him. He didn't want them noticing him, not while he had come closer in the first place to get a look at the man who had spoken out and caused his father and godfather to wear such unhappy looks. The speaker in question was nice looking, he decided, for his face was handsome and his smile seemed happy. His eyes though, he concluded, did not match the smile he wore. No, those eyes were too hard, too bright and cold, and made him think that the man with black hair was not pleased with something. And, as it would be, he would be right for the man spoke again.

"In the days before us we see a small band of those who stand aside from our victorious march, a band of renegades or those whom we do not want. They, whom call themselves 'the Opposition' only characterizes their miserable existence with launches of 'No' against the community of the nation and against constructive work. They who wish to see our Movement of revival hindered in every possible way are of no importance to the future of Great Britain. The truth of our idea, the strength of our achievement, and the resolution of our will shall never be brought to an end."

Once again, he understood not what was said, or what it all meant, but he did feel the change in the crowd as they looked to their neighbors, coughed, and gave applause to the parting words of the speaker. Tilting his head in interest, he watched as the man walked off and those who stood on standby followed, wondering briefly whom that man could have been and why he had said what he did. When the last of the black-cloaked figures vanished, the crowd broke apart, and this too he watched as the rag covered men and women shuffled away without a backward glance or a share of words amongst themselves. There he stood, confused and curious, uncertain to all that had transpired when all that would retreat to the farthest corner of his mind as his father and godfather approached.

"Harry, you can't run off like that," his father chastised, brows pulling together and mouths pursuing as a sigh left him. "Anyone could have taken you away, you know."

He blinked, unresistant as his father took back his hand and began to lead him away from the white stage. "I didn't run away, Daddy," he said, staring up at his father as they moved through the cobble stoned street, bypassing the same people who had attended the held speech in the square. "I just wanted to get a look at him."

"Him?" his father echoed, frowning back at him briefly and casting a look to the silent man beside him.

"The man who was speaking, Daddy," he explained with a tone that suggested surprise at his father's not knowing whom he had meant. "The one who was on the that big floor talking to everyone." He kicked a stone from his path, sending it soaring down the street and clattering noisily against a pile of rusted cauldrons that been left out. "He looked very nice."

His godfather made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and both he and his father stopped in their tracks to pull him along to the side, off the road and away from eyes and ears that would not think twice of constituting a report if the wrong thing was heard or seen. He, bewilder as to why they seemed so startled by his simple declaration, looked to him with confused questioning in his eyes. It was his godfather whom spoke first, and his father nodded with agreement to each word he said.

"Harry, understand that that man is not a nice one," his godfather said with such haste and conviction that he himself almost believed it to be true. "He is a terrible, horrible man that has brought nothing but pain and sadness to our world. He's evil, Harry."

Evil. He tested that word in his mind, played with it even on the tip of his tongue as he repeated it to himself. "Evil," he said, then frowned. "But why did everyone listen and clap when he was talking?"

"Because they are scared of him, Harry. When people are scared they do what they must so they don't get hurt by evil men like him." A look entered his godfather's gray eyes, an emotion he recognized for his mother had once explained it to him. Hatred. Large, clammy hands embraced his face, and thin fingers entangled in his overgrown hair. "But there are other people out there, Harry, people like us – like James and I – who aren't scared, who fight back so everyone else who is too scared won't have to live under the evil rule of that man forever."

He put his godfather's words together, like the pieces of the ancient puzzles his mother brought out for him to play with so he was kept busy while she rested. Blinking slowly at him, he gave a small nod. "Okay, I understand," he said, "you and Daddy are the good guys and that man is the evil one, right?"

"Yes, Harry, good," his father praised, leaning down to press a kiss to his crown. "Always remember that, Harry. He is the bad guy, the one that must be defeated."

He gave an absent nod, shook off his godfather's hold of his face, and asked his father, "When are we going to see, Mummy?" for it had been days since they had last visited her in the white room where she stayed. She had to be lonely, in that room by herself without him and his father. Besides, while he was awed that his father and godfather were the heroes, and yet disappointed that the nice looking man turned out to be the evil one, he still wanted to see his mother more than anything.

His father gave him a tight-lipped smile, patting down his hair. "Soon," he said, but wouldn't met his eye. He frowned harder, a feeling of sickness in his stomach for he knew his father was lying to him. He always looked away when he was lying. But, for what reason did he have to lie about going to see mother?

"Can we go now?" he pressed.

His father sighed, looked off into the distance and rubbed the back of his neck in a fashion he recognized as him being wary and uncomfortable. "Harry, ugh...we can't see Mummy now, okay? She needs a lot of rest so she can get better." His father shared a look with a godfather, who gave a jerky shake of the head. "How about we go to Honeyduke's for some chocolate before we go home?"

"Okay," he said slowly, a note of disappoint in his voice as his father led him back onto the street. He shuffled alongside him, brows furrowed and mouth dropped into a pout that did not cease even as they walked into the warm and sweets scented building. Inside the green painted candy shop it was bare of customers excluding him and his father and godfather, and the shop owner who greeted them with a wary smile. He shook off his father's hand and moved around the rows of glass displays, and stacked shelves, looking at each item with little interest in having any for himself till he came to a pause before a window display case that was showcasing a slab of chocolate morphed into the shape of a grinning Jack-o-lantern.

"I want this one," he said to his hovering guardians. "For Mummy when we go to see her," he further explained upon seeing the curious exchange and humored grins.

His father's grin melted away and the light of mirth died from his eyes. Seemingly at a loss with words, he gave a quick nod of the head and moved along, calling over the owner in the process. A few minutes later, a package in hand and the shop owner waving them out with that wiry smile of his, the three of them left the store. They ventured further down the deserted street of Hogsmeade, his father and godfather keeping him tightly pressed between the both of them, and their wands in hand they as neared Knockturn Alley. He peeked around his godfather to see a pair of hooded figures watching them from the shadows of cramped buildings.

"Are they bad people too?" he quietly questioned his father, pointing toward the small group of haggard warlocks bent over a cauldron of fire.

"Yes and no, Harry," his father answered with a sigh, sparing the people in question a flickering glance. "They are neither really good or bad, but they won't think twice about hurting you."

"Wouldn't that make them bad though?"

"Not necessarily. Just not self-sacrificing as most others."

"What does that mean?"

"That they only care about themselves, Harry."

He contemplated those words, wondering how someone could only care about themselves, could not care about hurting others and still not be bad. It was all very confusing. He kept mulling over those words as his father pulled him along, no longer paying attention as to where they were heading off to till his father picked him up and told him to hold on tightly. He had just enough time to notice that they had entered a very dingy, dirty building with chipped chairs and molded tables scattered around, an inch of dust blanketing the floor, and the wallpaper peeling. His nose caved in at the heavy stench of urine, blood and dust, giving a small sneeze that warranted a chuckle from his godfather who was trailing behind them. They walked up a the unstable staircase slowly, each step groaning in vicious complaint from their oppressive weight. At the top the staircase, his father tucked his head beneath his chin, and smoothed down his hair, murmuring strange words quietly.

There was a sound of a locks falling undone, and a door creaking open. He turned his head the other way to see the interior of the new place they had entered. His examination of the cramped room lasted only a second when his eyes settled onto the old man seated at the foot of a bare bed. His eyes widened and he pointed at the man with a cry of, "Dumbledore!" for he remembered the man from the many times he had visited their home when he was much younger. He had, also, seen the white haired man on the paper that the owls brought every morning.

"Albus," his father said. "You seem to be doing well."

He frowned at his father's words, wanting to ask how he could say that when the old man looked anything but well. He was very thin, even thinner than the pictures of him showed. His skin was yellow and waxy, hair and beard a loss of glow and hanging limply. And, yet, the light of fire in his bright blue eyes insisted otherwise, that despite his less than groomed appearance that Albus Dumbledore was well and good.

"Much better than one would expect for a man of my age," Dumbledore said with a light chuckle, rising to his feet and moving closer toward the group. He clasped hands with the shaggy-haired form of Sirius Black, giving the man a fond smile and exchanging a few words of pleasantry with him, before inclining with his hand for the two men to seat.

His father sat down on the dust ridden armchair that faced remnants of a marble fireplace. He sneezed again, wiggling his nose and swatting at the filthy air to fight away the dirt that tickled at his nostrils. His father's arms never loosened their restraint on his waist as he sat pressed into his chest.

"Harry, my boy, how are you doing?" Dumbledore asked of him, eyes alight with kindness and smile wide. He looked from his straight faced father to the beaming Dumbledore and shrugged. "Good enough then?" He nodded. "Good, good. May I ask something of you, Harry."

He blinked owlishly at the man, his stomach giving a little flip of wariness for he didn't like how Dumbledore was looking at him, or how his godfather and father seemed to tense all of a sudden. He gave a slow, uncertain nod.

Dumbledore reached into the folds of his traveling cloak, and withdrew a small vial of brownish liquid. His stomach burned and heart jumped with fear for as well as he remembered Dumbledore, he always recalled what exactly it was Dumbledore had asked of him. He wiggled in his father's arms. Intent on getting away, _escaping_ before they hurt him again. His father tightened his hold on him, keeping him secured against his chest.

"I don't wanna!" He yelled, kicking his feet and clawing at his father's bare arms. "I don't wanna do it!"

"Harry, my boy, I promise you need only to take a little drink of this," Dumbledore said softly, trying to soothe the now wailing child. "It will not hurt in the least."

"Yes it will! Yes it will!" He cried out, kicking his father in the shin. "Its gonna hurt! I don't wanna do it! I don't wanna see the bad stuff again!"

"Albus, maybe this isn't necessary," Sirius voiced out. "We can just wait until the visions come to him rather than forcing them -"

"We don't have anymore time to wait!" His father snapped out. "We need to see now!"

He wailed harder now, tears burning a trail from his eyes and down his round cheeks as he continued his chant of 'no' and 'I don't wanna.' They ignored him though. They ignored his crying, his pleading, and his screaming. His father grabbed tightly onto his jaw, keeping his mouth open as Dumbledore poured the vial's contents down his throat. His mouth was clamped shut and nose plugged, forcing him to swallow the vile potion. His stomach became a fire of pain, and he could not breathe. His head hurt, and heart was beating too fast. Whimpering weakly in his father's arms he clung to his bleeding arm as his mind was torn apart, stripped into layers and crudely reformed to build an image.

.

.

As quickly as it had come, so too did it quickly leave. And she lied there, heart hammering, skin wet with sweat and green eyes wide with unmasked horror at what she had witnessed. If only she had the ability to scream, to roar with the rage that was burning within her veins. Her baby. _Her_ beloved, sweet child was being tortured once more by the hands of her husband and that damnable man. Did they not know what terrors they were inflicting upon his innocent mind – a mind that would soon shatter into pieces with their continuous ministrations of that potion. Her fingers shook at her side, long nails clawing at the linens as her mouth parted into a wordless scream of fury.

There had been very few times in her life in which Lily Potter had felt such white-hot loathing, and for the very two men she had trusted with her most guarded secret and the secret of her son. And they had betrayed this trust. Gripping tighter onto the white sheets, Lily pulled herself upright, body giving a cry of its own in shock as pain assaulted itself mercilessly. It still hurt – after all these months it still hurt to move, to breathe. Her teeth grinded together and eyes narrowed in concentration as Lily slowly removed herself from the bed. The cold smoothness of the floor shot up her spine, producing a shudder from her. Slowly she took delicate steps, testing her unsteady balance for great fault, and when she found that she could stand without her knees buckling too much, she moved quicker.

The door to her room whispered open, and much to her refill an alarm did not sound as she existed. Looking every which way, Lily stepped out into the sterile white corridor, and when she saw, nor heard, no one approaching she hurried along as quickly as her struggling body would permit. Past closed doors that gave no signs of life, and deserted offices that seemed untouched, Lily stumbled further down the lengthy hallway, eyes skittish as they looked for an exit. It would take many turns down many halls before she came to one, and as she pushed open the heavy white door and staggered out into the unseasonably bitter October air, she cared not for the sudden blare of alarms. Her bare feet were sliced by the jagged edges of the ground as she walked away, face twisted into a grimace as she concentrated on channeling the feeble remains of her magical core.

"Mrs. Potter! What on earth are you doing out here!"

Lily spun to face the wide-eyed Healer who had been charged with monitoring her health. Lily gave her a slight smile and took a step back. "There is something I must do," she said, a rush of magic singing in her blood as it embraced her body.

The Healer's brown eyes turned into saucers. "Have you lost your mind?" She shrieked. "Your magical core has been damaged beyond repair already! Using any form of magic will kill you!"

"Then I am prepared to die," she murmured. "For him. For my boy, I can die without a seconds thought."

The Healer's words were lost to her as she Apparated from that spot, the world twisting and spinning violently, encasing her and suffocating her till she felt lightheaded. When it all came to an end, Lily was on the ground on the front lawn of her home. She raised herself from off the ground shakily, bent at the waist and gave a heave as her throat opened up. Blood and digested food was purged from her stomach, staining the inside of her mouth with its putrid taste. Breathing weakly, Lily stepped over the puddle of sick and made way for the front door. Her fist banged sluggishly at the door, the sound barely audible amidst the din of the howling wind. On the other side of the door she could hear the murmurs of conversation, and the cries of a child.

"Harry," she croaked out, banging harder on the door. "Harry!"

There was a clatter, a bang and a man's voice uttering her name in surprise. Footsteps sounded and neared, the door flew open and she stumbled past the threshold and into the open arms of Sirius Black. "Lily," the former Auror breathed in shock, holding onto her limp form. "Lily! What in heavens name are you doing here?"

"Harry," she hissed out, struggling from his tight grip and pushing past him to head toward the sound of her son's whimpering sobs. "Harry," she whispered again, knees slapping harshly together as she bent over at the waist again. Her body shook with harsh coughs, blood flying from her mouth to splatter against the floor.

It was then that he came out, her husband wearing a look of complete disbelief and sickness. Lily wiped her bloodied lips with the back of her hand, looked to him, and spat at his feet. "You are a bastard, James Potter," she snarled. "A bastard and a liar!"

"Lily," he began slowly, holding up his hands in a helpless manner. "Please, understand - "

"Understand?" She shrieked. "Don't you dare ask me to understand a damn thing you plan to say! In my absence I had only ask that you protect our son! That you do not subjugate him to the very same fate you and _him _had forced me into and you go and do just that! How could you? Do you not realize what you have done to our son! His very mind is in danger of - "The remainder of her words were lost behind a strangled cry as blood bubbled within her throat. Lily fell to her knees, arms encircling her stomach as she went into a fit of coughs. Beneath the tips of her finger she could feel the wound reopening and bleeding, staining her white dress red.

"Lily!" Both James and Sirius cried out, falling beside her.

"Don't touch me!" She snapped, spitting a glob of blood and mucus near her husbands feet and slapping away both of his hands when they extended to touch her. "Don't you ever lay a hand on me again James Potter!"

"Lily, please," James whispered weakly, distraught as he watched the spot of blood on her white dress enlarge. "_Please_ we need to get you back to St. Mungo's before you - "

"Mummy?"

At the sound of the quiet, tentative voice, Lily removed her eyes from the stricken face of her husband to the small child that had stepped into the archway. Her heart sang and ached as she laid eyes upon him, _her _baby, _her_ sweet boy. He looked at her with eyes filled with such anguish and fear from the terrors he had witnessed that it further set her blood ablaze with a desire for vengeance. Rising on unsteady feet, Lily stepped over to him, dropped to her knees before him and wrapped her bloodied arms around him.

"Oh, Harry," she sobbed softly, tears streaming from her eyes. "My baby, my sweet child. What have they done to you."

"Mummy," the small boy whimpered, burrowing himself deeper into her embrace. "I don't want to see it. I don't want to."

"I know," Lily whispered into his ear. "I know. Mummy will stop it, okay. They'll never hurt you again. Never again."

There was a sound of a strained noise. "Lily, you can't do that," James said, lightly insisting as he stepped toward his wife and son. "We need his visions. If we're going to win this war - "

"Damn you and damn this war!" Lily roared, rearing back to raise a hand and smack her husband full across the mouth. "One thing! I asked one thing of you and you broke your vow to me! Find another means of winning this war, but my son will never again be used by the likes of you and Albus Dumbledore so long as I still have breath in my lungs!"

"Lily, you're being irrational," James growled out quietly. "I only did what was right. I did it so _we_ could build a better future for our son."

"At the expense of his happiness and sanity?" Lily yelled. "I will not have it, James! I won't have any of this!" With that she picked up her son, pressed him close to her bosom and began to chant. He clung to her, staring into her eyes as the spare remains of her magic rose upward and encased his form. The personified essence burned blue, tendrils of white reaching out to twist around her son's slender wrist and take on the shape of a thick, silver bracelet.

And then she broke. She was torn apart from the inside, ripped from flesh and bone until she became nothing more than a shapeless, bodiless creature. She could hear the screams of her name from her husband and Sirius, the cries from her child pleading for her to not go, but there was not much she could do now. She was nothing more than a wisp of light, watching them for the time being. And then the blinding, warm light came for her, and she went with it with no resistance for she knew, j_ust knew_, that her child would be fine now.

.

.

**II**

The torrents of cold rain fell steady, beating an indentation into the earth as they stood amongst the gathered crowd. Once, before, he had also been in a situation similar to this. Surrounded by people, people he knew and fought for, who adorned black and stared at the fresh grave with tears in their eyes and a look of solemn loss in their faces. Yes, Sirius Black had seen much of the same scene before, and knew what was expected of him. He would mourn, possibly even cry, but he would not break apart.

Even if this funeral was for his best friend.

None of those who had attended the short funeral stayed long afterwords, giving him and the orphaned boy beside him a few parting words of sympathy before retreating back to their quiet lives, silently thankful that it was not them who must go through the ordeal of burying a loved one. Sirius nodded in acknowledgment to each of their words, never really hearing what they had to say as he stared at the tombstone before him.

_Here lies James Charlus Potter_

_He leaves behind a legacy_

_And a son_, Sirius thought, looking away from the engraved words to the child beside him. Small for his age and appearing even smaller in the black dress robes he wore, Hadrian James Potter did not look distraught over the death of his father. He did not express anything in the slightest as he stared at the fresh grave stoically. Sirius did not bat an eye to this. He had expected it, if he had to be frank. Since the death of his mother three years ago, the relationship between James and his son had become lost to the world, and with that whatever remaining emotional attention Hadrian for his father.

Sighing softly, Sirius knelt down before the tombstone, placed a hand onto the marble face and spoke. "Well, this is where we say our goodbye's, old friend," he started. "We had a lot of good times, you and I – times I will cherish with my very last breath. "He paused, eying his forefinger as it outlined the lettering of his friends name, "We still had so much to do, James. So many things to accomplish in our life, and now all of that is gone." Sirius took a shaky breath, shook his head and rose to his feet. "I'm sorry I couldn't have been there for you, mate. I would have given my life for you, James. Any time, any day. But, you fought a good fight that no one will forget. I'll make sure of that. "

His parting words hung in the air, a reminder to an unspoken promise he and James had once made to each other during the earlier years of the war. A promise Sirius fully intended to keep. "Rest in peace, mate," he murmured in farewell before turning back to the watchful child.

Hadrian raised a brow at him, an action that made the young boy look even more like his deceased mother. Sirius shook away the thought of Lily Potter and held out a hand for his godson, which Hadrian took without question and the two set off. They did not speak for much of their walk back to the Potter cottage, each lost in their own thoughts when Hadrian said, "Was he a good man, my father."

Sirius looked down at him with a small frown. "He did what he thought was right."

"Would you have done the same, too?" Hadrian asked softly. "Left your child too himself to fight a lost cause?"

It was there that Sirius stopped, knelt so he was eye level with his godson and gave the small shoulders a hard shake. "Harry, understand that your father died so that you and everyone else could live without fear – so that we could all be free from the dictatorship of the Dark Lord and his Movement."

Green eyes stared back into gray without a flicker of conviction to what was said. "That doesn't make up for orphaning your own child," was all Hadrian said in reply, shrugging off Sirius's hands and moving past the kneeling man to make his way toward the home he had grown up in.

Sirius sighed, got back onto his feet, and followed after the dark-haired boy. Inside the cottage, not much had changed since the night of Lily Potter's death three years prior. In exception for the blood, everything remained to be the same. The home she had worked to perfect and reflect the love she possessed for her family still showed in every inch of the home, but even to Sirius it felt off for this house, though familiar and inviting, had never truly been the same since her death and the break in relations between father and son. Rubbing the back of his neck as he closed the door behind him, Sirius made his way into the sitting room where Hadrian had taken residence before the merrily burning hearth with his legs crossed and hair spilling from its binding.

"You need a haircut," Sirius said, more to himself than to Hadrian as he eyed the boy. "You look enough like a girl without the long hair."

Hadrian made a small noise, though contributed no input to his godfather's words. Which was fine with Sirius. He wasn't in much of a mood to try to pry a proper conversation out of his godson. Settling himself into the loveseat, Sirius drifted his attention onto the crackling flames and listened as time bypassed outside. The storm had yet to let up, he had a meeting that must be attended, and a mute-like child to care for now.

"What in the blue hell am I going to do with you," Sirius groaned out. "I can't take care of a child with my line of work."

Hadrian snorted. "I didn't know being a part of a resistance group counted as a job."

"Don't get cheeky with me, Harry," Sirius warned with an exhausted sigh. "I'm being very serious right now. There's no way I can take you out on missions, or just leave you to yourself without proper supervision."

"I'm not a child, Sirius," Hadrian said, throwing his godfather a small frown. "I can take care of myself. I've done it before."

"Before counts for nothing. You're my ward now, and as your legal guardian I say children under the age of eleven are much too young to be left by themselves."

Hadrian shook his head at his godfather and looked away. "Then your only real option, I suppose, is to either put me in an orphanage while you play resistance hero, leave me to take care of myself, or give up your work and properly raise me."

"I don't like any of those."

"I thought not."

"Well," Sirius began slowly. "I suppose there's only one thing left to do."

"Which is?"

"Pack your bags, kiddo, and you'll find out soon enough."


	2. Chapter II

**Updater Note:** Firstly, a great thanks to those who had reviewed thus far, it was by your words of expressed intrigue that I was able to work on the second installment of _Pawn_ moments after uploading the first chapter. I had estimated the second chapter to be uploaded by the end of the week, or even next Monday, but alas I found myself unable to contain myself and had to finish up what I had began of chapter two. Though, to be frank, I am not very keen on this chapter's ending. It just wouldn't come out right to me.

With that, to answer some questions. First to Gauss. My dear reviewer, you and I could become the best of acquaintances. I too shared your sentiments whenever I read through Harry Potter Fan Fictions, especially those set during the early parts of Voldemort's youth and thus WWII. My disappointment at the author's dismissal of the war, and the influence of Hitler's ideologies on a young Tom, was what led me to gather the material I needed on Nazism, Hitler and WWII. I, like you, am in no way a Neo-Nazi, but rather wanted to bring light to the similarities between the ways Voldemort and Hitler had gained their followers, ranking, and etc. That and Voldemort winning the first wizarding world seems epic.

To InkWave – Thank you for your comment, and also for being the first to figure out where the secondary inspiration for _Pawn_ came from. The idea for a Seer Harry, rebel camps, and the potion that was used to bring about more frequent visions, all came from Little Seer – the rest will be my own design.

To CynicalOrange – Thank you also for your comment. Lily's parentage will be explained in upcoming chapters, though not for much time. As you guessed his powers have been sealed, which will be explained now and further along as the story goes, and no he will not live with the Dursleys under the new laws of Voldemort's regime (which will also be explained.)

I do hope that answered _some _of your questions without giving away much and future chapters to come. Once more, thank you all for your kind reviews, and I do hope you enjoy this chapter as much as you did the first.

* * *

Chapter II

.

_"Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak."_  
― Sun Tzu, _The Art of War _

.

**I **

There was not much for him to take along. The few clothing he possessed had been folded and placed within the black bag his godfather had provided, leaving his ancient wardrobe bare of all its contents and solemn looking in his eyes. The miserable, empty state of his wardrobe reflected the void that too filled his bedroom. The walls, once decorated with a light blue hue and dotted with charmed clouds that floated along the ceiling had been stripped of color; the white carpet that once covered the wooden floor had been discarded some years before, and his dresser bare of trinkets from his childhood, or photos for him to bring along. All in all, Hadrian's room showed no signs that a child of eight years inhabited the small quarters. This itself didn't necessarily bother him. His home, or more precisely the home he had grown up within since the death of his mother had never been the same, or welcoming to him. It did not give him comfort or protection, but rather left him feeling the same emptiness this room personified.

Hadrian sighed softly, nudging the black bag closer toward the open door, and took a step before his dresser. A film of dust covered the circular mirror, something he wiped away with the sleeve of his dress robes and raised a thin brow at his own reflection. Lambent green irises stared back at him with flicker of questioning, for he himself wondered much as he stood there in his dark bedroom, ready to leave all that he had grown to know behind to follow whatever path his godfather was taking. Hadrian, sighing once more, brought a hand up to push back the strands of dark tresses curtaining his face. Silver flashed in the vanity mirror, and his eyes moved toward the thick bracelet hanging delicately on his left wrist. Hadrian, absently, ran his forefinger over the engraved surface of the jewelry, an action he had done many times over since the death of his mother. The tip of his finger traced over the strange markings, words of an old language he couldn't decipher, but cherished, and resented, all the same.

His mother, in a last attempt to protect him from the hands of those who sought to use him for a war that could not be won, had buried away his gift of Sight. But, in doing this selfless act of sacrifice for her son, she had also damned him to a fate of being without his magic. At first, in the months after her death, Hadrian had been oblivious to his severed connection to his magical core. His father, whether from guilt or anger, had left him to his own accord as he fought alongside the opposition, and too never cared to notice that his only child had become something akin to a Squib. Hadrian, at first, had not been able to accept being without his magic. He lashed out, filled himself with rage and emotions of loss in hopes of tapping into his resources, but nothing. Nothing had come from his acts except exhaustion and emotional detainment. It was like a foul, twisted joke. In escaping his Sight, he had also been turned into the very defenseless child they all saw him as.

A guttered sound resounded in the back of his throat, snapping Hadrian from his own musing as he listened for a moment to the sound of clatter and banging, and Sirius's own bellowing curses. He snorted. Though Hadrian wasn't surprised at his father's choice of a guardian upon his death, he still wasn't well warmed to the knowledge that he was going to be raised by a man too similar to his own father. Sighing a thrice time that evening, Hadrian threaded his fingers through his wavy, and slightly unruly black hair, looked at his own soft-faced reflection and frowned. Yes, he was aware that he did much more like his mother than his own father, but it did not necessarily mean that he was effeminate in any way. Quite the opposite, really. He was still a child, and was bound to grow out of his less than flattering features soon.

"Real soon," he mumbled, dropping his hands from his hair and stepping over to his bag to retrieve it from off the floor. Hefting it over his shoulder, Hadrian spared a parting look to his bedroom, and closed the door behind him as he left. The stairs gave their own chorus of farewells to him as he made his way down to the archway where Sirius was waiting for him. Hadrian didn't comment on numerous scraps along the man's bearded face, putting it off as his godfather getting into another fight with the Muggle cooking tools his mother had bought, and father never removed.

Sirius wiped a spot of blood from off his temple with a cluck of his tongue, already pushing the unfortunate incident with the Muggle food popper out of his mind as he addressed his godson. "You got everything you need?"

"Yes," Hadrian answered as he made his way to the front door. He opened it, stepped out inside the late evening air, and looked over his shoulder to where his godfather was lingering. He frowned. "What are you waiting for, Sirius? I already have everything I need."

Faded gray eyed stared at him for a fraction of a second, then settled back onto the framed photographs aligned along the wall. Sirius placed the tips of his fingers over the smiling faces of his best friends with a frown back at his godson. "Aren't you going to take the pictures with you?"

"No. They aren't necessary."

Sirius's frown deepened, his mouth dropping into a puckered line. "They're memories, Harry. Memories of your Mum and Dad – you should take them, so you have a piece of them with you at all times," he said. "You can't just leave them here."

"If you want the pictures you can have them," Hadrian said evenly, unfazed by his godfather's words. "I'm sure you can cherish them enough for the both of us."

"You're unbelievable," Sirius said with a sigh, lowering his fingers from off the glassed surface of the photograph. There was a breath of a pause, and then, without further words on his part, Sirius plucked the photograph of a smiling Lily and a spitting one-year Hadrian from off the wall. He opened the back flap and took out the photo, folded it in half, and walked over to his godson. "Take it."

"I don't want it," Hadrian said without tearing his eyes from the indigo sky above him. Dark gray clouds had begun to roll in from the horizon, churning with an impending rainstorm as thunder sounded from the distance. Hadrian could already taste the rain and foul scent of ozone on the tip of tongue. He briefly wondered how they were going to travel to their destination without getting caught in the storm itself.

"Harry, _please_."

He frowned. In the many years he had been raised around Sirius Black, Hadrian had never once actually heard a plea come from the ex-Auror's mouth. But, to actually hear that slither of desperation in his gruff voice forced a twinge of something within Hadrian's heart. Pressing his lips together to keep his exasperated sigh at bay, Hadrian turned to his guardian and accepted the folded picture. He unzipped the front pocket of his bag, slipped the picture inside, and zipped back up with a sniff at his godfather. "Happy now?"

"Very,"Sirius said with a large smile that earned him a sliver of a glare from the young boy.

"Can we go now?"

"Yeah, no point in waiting around anymore." Sirius, ushering his godson further outside, closed the door behind them and clamped a hand over his narrow shoulder as he steered him across the lawn and onto the deserted street. He, like Hadrian, did not look back at the cottage they were leaving behind. Though, unlike the young boy who didn't care much for the home he was leaving behind, Sirius did not trust himself to bid goodbye to his deceased friends home as he took away the homes only connection. His grip on Hadrian's shoulder tightened, warranting a shriveled glare from the sable haired boy who shook him off. "I'm really going to miss coming to this old place," Sirius said thoughtfully.

"There really isn't anything to miss here," Hadrian commented, his eyes sliding from home to home with a dismissive glance.

"The memories, Harry," Sirius explained. "When you get to be my age, you start to appreciate things more, especially when you're leaving a place or thing full of memories behind. It gets to you, and you really start to miss it. You get what I'm saying?"

"No," Hadrian said bluntly. "You can ask me again in twenty something years and see if I feel the same way."

Sirius tilted back his head and stretched out his laugh, the corners of his eyes specked with tears. Hadrian, mumbling under his breath "You look like a fool" quickened his strut to put a distance between him and his still laughing guardian. Sirius caught up to him some time later, still chuckling, and threw an arm around his shoulders to press the boy firmly against his side. Hadrian squirmed against his with a huff and elbowed his godfather in the ribs. "Let go already," he hissed out, eyes darting around the vacant village square where shops stood dark and signs were turned to 'closed.'

"No can do, kiddo," Sirius sang out, the mirth still burning in his voice as he swayed in step with his godson. "We're about to go off in one. . ."

"Go off?" Hadrian echoed breathlessly, still in a struggle to free himself from his godfather's hold.

". . .Two,"

"What on earth are you - "

"Three!"

The air vibrated with a _crack _his ears and mind just had enough time to recognize as Apparation when the air was stolen from his lungs. Everything had gone black, and he was being pressed into harshly on every side. Unable to breathe, body constricted, eyes forced to the back of his skull, and eardrums drowning in the screams of his own blood, Hadrian felt horribly lightheaded and near faint. As quickly as the suffocating sensation had presented itself, so too did it quickly retreat and Hadrian found himself hitting the ground with a vicious thud while his mouth gaped open to greedily suck in the cold air. Torn between wheezing and continuing to breathe in mouthfuls of air, Hadrian settled for a weak groan.

"You okay there, kiddo?" Sirius's voice asked from above him, and a large hand settled onto his back, rubbing soothing circles from his shoulder-blades to his lower back. Hadrian answered with another quiet tiny groan. "Don't worry, you get used to Apparating. First times are never easy, especially for kids."

Hadrian gave a grunt. He was well aware, from his mother's descriptions of her own experiences, that Apparation could be a less than pleasant way to travel for those who were not prepared for the momentary lack of oxygen. It took him quite some time to regain his lost breath, and steady the trembling in his fingers. With his bearing finally in place, Hadrian lifted his hands from off the ground and stared at his dirt covered palms with questioning. It was at that moment that he began to examine his uninformed surrounding, and, much to his shock and displeasure, they had ventured into the belly of a thick forest. Towering trees loomed overhead, their trunks wider than a home, and bark a rough, jagged black brown. Shadows danced between these giant kings, and the tinkering voices of creatures sounded in every direction. Hadrian, a loss of words, rose to his shaky feet and dusted off his hands with a brow knitted glance to his guardian.

"Where are we?' He asked, curious as to why his godfather would think to bring him to a forest of all places. "I really don't think a forest is a good place to bring kids, Sirius."

Sirius gave a chuckle, his hand combing through Hadrian's hair, and sending bits of dirt and grass that had clung to the locks back onto the ground. "I'm aware that a forest isn't kid friendly," he said as he urged his godson to walk despite the light tremors in his legs still. "But this isn't just a forest, Harry."

A dubious look was given to him. "Does it magically turn into a palace or something?"

"No."

"Then it's a forest."

"Nope, it's entirely something else," Sirius said with an air of mystery that Hadrian did not appreciate in the least. His arm looped around Hadrian's shoulders, keeping the boy close to him as they treaded deeper into the forest. Hadrian, who was still waiting for his godfather to elaborate, looked around for the time being. A small filter of moonlight had managed to break through the dense leaves, scattering along the leaf and twig strewn floor, and giving a weak trail light for the two. Sirius, whistling a tune Hadrian wasn't familiar with, came to a stop, swept his gaze along the forest, and took out his wand.

"_Aperio.__" _

A strand of gold light streamed from the tip of Sirius's wand, swelling in size as it extended out from the core of the stick. Hadrian, with his stomach a knot of envy, watched as the essence of magic burst into a blinding light, burning the space around them hues of white and gold, before retreating and darkness settled once more. But it was not darkness alone that now stood before him. A path had opened up before them, lit by palm-sized lanterns that hanged from the branches of the trees on either side. Hadrian, stepping closer for further inspection, saw that the path itself was man made, and seemed to be new. Whipping his head around, and mouth ready to launch questions, Hadrian's words were stopped short when he noticed the sudden tension in Sirius's shoulders. Wand held high, and jaw taut with clenched teeth, Sirius snatched up Hadrian's wrist and pulled the boy to his side. Hadrian, utter baffled at the change in his godfather's behavior, nudged him in the ribs in silent query when he too heard the sound that had brought a defensive stance to his guardian.

It had not registered to his ears in the beginning, but as he strained to listen now Hadrian too could hear the shuffle of footsteps. He thought, for a paused second, that it must have been animal was closing in on them, but the concentrated intakes of breath, and paused steps forced him to think otherwise. Sirius, his muscles bunched to dodge whatever may come their way, inclined to take a forward and attack when a rough voice, barely human sounding in Hadrian's ears, called out.

"State your name!"

"Sirius Black," Sirius replied, something Hadrian frowned at for one really didn't, in all good conscious, answer an unknown figure in dark woods. "The same too you. State your name."

"Black?" the stranger speaker grunted, a note of clear surprise and suspicion in his voice. There was a crack of twigs as the faceless voice took a step toward them, the lights of the pathway doing nothing to illuminate his features. "Is that really you?"

"There could be no other," Sirius said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Now, your name."

There was a stretch of a pause, as though the man of shadow was consider hard whether or not to give himself away without, doubtful, inquiries on his part. It was when the man finally uttered his given name that Sirius would lover his wand a fraction and Hadrian would eye his guardian in bemusement. The man's name, Alastor Moody, did not conjure a face or even vague memories for him to rely upon, thus making this man a complete stranger to him. Sirius, obliviously, did not feel the same for he approached the man with a broad grin and clapped him hard on the shoulder. Hadrian's face twisted into a scowl. His godfather, apparently, was too easily trusting and not at all considerate of the dangers this Moody man could present.

The two men shared a long, hushed conversation that Hadrian knew without their saying was not meant for his ears. He did, however, watch as the two preformed identical spells upon each other, and words of scrawled gold appeared upon their heads. Sirius Black. Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody.

They were checking to see if each was whom they claimed to be.

So, why, did they not do the same for him? Did they not think, if it was not plausible, that he too could be someone else under disguise? Huffing softly to himself, Hadrian looked around his godfather's narrow back to get a good look at this Moody fellow. His stomach gave a tiny flip, whether in fear or disgust he wasn't quite sure. The man's face, well it in all good sense could no longer be described as something human. The yellowing skin was a canvas of scars, inch wide and even deeper, causing a droop to one side of his face, while the other was etched with deep wrinkles. The man's mouth was lopsided just as his body was stocky and short. Though, of all his bizarre and stomach knotting appearance, it was that electric glass eyes that bore into Hadrian that truly troubled him. He felt defenseless under the bright blue, glassy stare, as if this man was stripping him apart by layers and examining his innards at leisure.

It was rather unnerving.

"Whose the boy?" Alastor grunted out, jerking a stumpy thumb in Hadrian's direction.

"My godson," Sirius said, and much to Hadrian's dismay, took him by the arm and placed him front and center of queer man. "Hadrian, meet Alastor Moody. Or Mad-Eye, whichever works for you."

Hadrian nodded mutely, bringing up a hand to swat away his godfather's hold and step away from both men. Sirius didn't release his hold as Alastor, leaning heavily against his walking stick, brought his face a few inches closer to Hadrian's. Automatically the boy's nostrils were filled with the raw scent of meat and foul breath, and his nose caved in. Alastor snarled at him. "This is Lily's boy?"

"It is," Sirius answered.

"Well, boy," Alastor breathed out, moving in closer. "You got your Mum's eye, for sure. But do you got her gift as well?"

Hadrian's stomach, already a wave of sick from the scent rolling off the man, tensed and his lungs shrunk in size. His heart gave a hollow thud as he craned his neck to stare up at his godfather with accusation and betrayal burning in his eyes. Sirius, if he noticed the look or even cared to acknowledge the eyes burrowing into him, said nothing as Alastor shout out a hand to grab onto Hadrian's face. The magical blue eye buzzed dizzily in its socket, and then settled firmly onto his face. Hadrian's mouth dried. Breathe, his mind insisted as his lungs were scorched with flames, and vision danced with spots of darkness. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't _run_.

"He doesn't have the gift anymore, Mad-Eye," Sirius spoke out, brushing away the man's callused hand from his godson's pale face. "Not since that night Lily came and sealed it."

"Sealed it?" the man snarled.

"Yes, seal it," Sirius repeated with a sigh. He kept his hand on Hadrian's arm, feeling the shivers the ran up the slender limb and throughout his body. "There really isn't anything that can be done about it. James and I studied what we could about the enchantment she had used, but nothing came up, and the only person who knows how to reverse it has been dead for years."

"There might be another," Alastor said with a feral curl of his mouth. "Just the man we both came to see, too."

They needed not to speak his name for Hadrian to know whom they were discussing. Thinking about the man alone turned his blood to ice and left him feeling paralyzed. Dumbledore. They were going to take him to Dumbledore and that man was going to force that potion down his throat and. . . and . . .

"NO!"

Hadrian tore himself from his godfather's grasp, pushing past both men in his haste to run, to _escape. _His legs carried him quickly as he darted through the forest, skidding between immobile trees, and staggering with each tangle of roots against his feet. Behind him he could hear the shouts of his godfather for him to come back, that nothing was going to happen to him. _Liars. _They were all liars and traitors. So he ran faster, harder and quicker till his lungs felt ready to burst and heart and legs give way. But this forest would not end. No matter where he turned, he felt hapless and lost, like an animal running in a circle and getting nowhere. With his panic rising, and his body begging for rest, Hadrian could not hear the bellowed spell sent his way until it was much too late. There was a bright, blinding flash of red light, a force hitting him from behind and sending him soaring forward. And, before he even hit the ground, he was unconscious.

.

.

**II**

It was a splitting headache that Hadrian awoke to. His eyes cracked open an inch, only to close at the disorientating swarm of colors and light. A quiet groan slipped from his parched throat, the sound unheard amidst the cluster of early morning din. His fingers twitched at his side, the pads grazing over starch linens as Hadrian opened his eyes once more. He squinted against the harsh glare of light, wondering for a second why he was lying in a hospital room of all places. For, that what was what this strange and unfamiliar room resembled. However, after blinking back the spots of white from his eyes, Hadrian came to the realization that his presumptive thought of being in a hospital was false. There were no white walls surrounding him, but rather the a yellow walls that were in fact the interlining of a tent. The floor was not tiled, but rather a ground of dirt and clumps of grass. Sitting upright, and groaning at the sharp throb of pain at the back of his head, Hadrian reached to probe at the back of his skull while he looked around. The room, expect for a lone four-legged chair and the hammock he sat in, was empty.

Once satisfied that he hadn't cracked open the back of his head, Hadrian swung his legs from beneath the sheet and slid from the hammock. The contact of cool dirt and his bare feet was rather pleasant, if not soothing for his feet ached painfully so, as though he had been walking for ages in hot sand. Stretching out his toes and burrowing them beneath the dirt, Hadrian further examined the cramped quarter. His shoes, he noticed, where not anywhere to be found, and upon examining himself, he saw that he had been stripped of his dress robes and redressed in plain black trousers and a white shirt that was a tad too big for him. He frowned, then scowled, annoyed that someone had come in and undressed him while he was asleep. Kicking away a patch of uprooted grass, Hadrian took a step toward the tent flap, slid it off to the side and poked his head out. What he saw looked to be something out of those Muggle camping magazines his father had been so grossly into.

Tents, of all shapes and sizes, and the same washed out yellow shade of the one he was in sat in a circle row around him, a few feet of distance from one to the next. A fire pit sat in the center, feeble smoke still rising from the ashes of wood and dried grass, and a cluster of pots, plates, and a skillet sat by it with food residue still clinging to the surface. Hadrian sniffed. The air smelled like bacon and eggs, something that made his stomach groan in hunger. Silently berating himself for getting hungry at a time like this, Hadrian took a cautious step out from his tent. He stopped with only a foot out and a foot in when the sound of woman's shrill voiced filled the air.

"Fred! George! What have I told you about bring in – Ronald untie Neville this instant!"

The laughter of children drowned away the woman's bantering cry, and Hadrian watched as a group of boy's ran out from a patch worked tent, their bright red heads rushing past him in a blur just as the woman, the mother of the children he presumed, stepped outside with her cheeks and ears flushed red, and a broom in hand. Behind her, a redheaded little girl appeared along with a round boy whose brown hair sat plastered to his head. Hadrian stared at the woman and the two children for some time, blinking and looking away quickly when the three turned their attention onto him.

"Oh my," he heard the woman breathe. "Ginny, dear, go and tell Sirius and the others that he's woken up."

At the mention of his godfather's name, Hadrian raised his eyes from his bare feet to the woman and boy who were coming toward him, catching sight of the little girl running off in the corner of his eye. The red haired woman wore a bright, welcoming smile as she made her way to him, handing over the broom stick to the wide-eyed boy beside her. Hadrian, head titled, gave the woman and boy a once-over. Clearly, judging by their looks alone, they were not mother and son. The woman, though slightly plump, had hair as bright as the sunset, though it looked thin and dull in its simple knotted bun. Her eyes were brown and warm, and clothing she wore were stitched together in many places. The boy, who was rounder and looked to have a nervous twitch to him, kept staring at Hadrian with his doe wide eyes.

For some time neither of them spoke, Hadrian staring at them and they in turn eying him with curiosity. It was the woman who spoke first, wringing her hands in her apron before holding out a hand to Hadrian. "Hello, dear," she said. "My name is Molly Weasley, and you must be Harry. Sirius has told me much about you.

"Hello," Hadrian replied slowly, giving her a small nod but never taking the offered hand as an itch of wariness unfurled in his stomach. "Where is he? My godfather."

She didn't seem to mind his blatant refusal to shake her hand. Easily dropping it back to her side, her smile lowered a fraction till it reminded him of the one the old mothers back at Godric's Hollow had used upon him after his mother's death. The smile that tried to offer reassurance and comfort, yet only managed to come off as forced. "Oh nowhere too important. He's coming back right now," Molly said. "He's been quite worried about you, dear. You've been asleep for three days. You must be starving. How about you come along with Neville and I, we were just about to serve up some lunch."

Hadrian, more shocked to hear that he had been asleep for three days, stared at the woman with a parted mouth, uncertain whether to demand answers or run from her. Three days. He had been asleep for _three_ days. But, could one really call his coma-like slumber sleep? Hadrian didn't remember falling asleep three days ago. He did, however, recall the encounter with Mad-Eye, how he had tried to run away and then – then what? Hadrian's face crumbled into a severe frown, his mind boggled at the sudden blank spot in his memory. It didn't make sense, not in the least. He had been trying to run away, to leave before Sirius could pull the same trick upon him like his father had, and then nothing. Just darkness.

"Are you alright, Harry dear?" Molly asked, snapping his from his gear of thought with a hand on his shoulder.

Hadrian instantly, without thought, slapped her hand away. His eyes were wide and mouth set into a snarl. "Don't touch me," he hissed out, taking a step back from her. The flap of tent touched against his back, the fabric thick and coarse, something he ignored when he noticed the sour frown the boy, Neville, was giving him.

Molly gave a small laugh, waving her hand in the air as though she had received only a playful slap to it. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to startle you, Harry." She made random gestures with her hands, smiling softening with a flustered edge to it. "But you really have nothing to be afraid of. None of here would ever think to hurt you. "

She was just as bad as the others, he thought, someone who could appear to be so wholesome and kind, only to reveal that they were anything but without ill intentions. She was just like Dumbledore. They all were. Hadrian took another step away from her, inching subtly to the side to put a girth of space between them in case he needed to flee. She noticed his slow slides way from her, but did not comment, rather instead smiling and holding out her hand in offering once more.

"I know you must be horribly confused, especially after just waking up, but I do promise that no harm will come to you," Molly said in a soft tone. "The good do not hurt anyone."

How terribly wrong and oblivious she is. A small glare fixed firmly in place, Hadrian stalked past her without a backward glance or word. He ignored her cries of protest, and the stabs of pain in the soles of his feet whenever bits and pieces of rock dug into the soft flesh. He walked on, away from the circle of tents and entered into a clearing. The ground had been purged of all wildlife, grass, roots, and flowers alike. The trees that encircled it were bare and black, thin silhouettes in the glare of afternoon sunlight. Hadrian stood in the center of all this, toes curled in the cool earth, and brows stuck together in thought. He knew that he could not stay here, not if anyone else he would later meet turned out to be the same as the woman or Dumbledore. But where to go? He could not Apparate, and did not have a broom to fly away on, and besides even if he was to find one Hadrian was still not well adapted to flying so high into the air. He could, obviously, walk, but there would be a chance that he could get lost and who knew what could, or would, happen to him then.

He sighed.

"Going somewhere, boy?"

His back went rigid and muscles bunched with tension. He had not heard anyone approaching him from behind, but even without turning around, Hadrian knew the gruff, barking voice belonged to no other than Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody. He turned around, slowly, to face the stock man, and while his eyes widened with fear, his shoulders drooped and toes curled further. It was suddenly too cold outside, and he wanted nothing else than to be back in his tent and asleep in the hammock.

"Come on, boy," Mad-Eye grunted, keeping his wand pointed directly at the child and nodding his head jerkily back toward the direction they had both come in. "That lot back there is waiting – real eager they are – to meet you. Don't wanna keep them waiting all day, do you."

Hadrian gave a weak shake of the head, biting no the insides of his cheek to keep from crying out when Mad-Eye took hold of his forearm and tugged him along, taking him back into the very camp sight he would have given anything to escape from. The walk did not take long, and Hadrian did not struggle as his legs mechanically moved without his consent. He could feel the heel of his feet bleeding, and the sticky warmth of the blood seeping to his soles. He wondered if he was leaving a bloodied footprint trail back to the camp, but that thought was put quickly to rest when they arrived back. True to Mad-Eye's words, there were people gathered outside. None of them, in exception to one, greeted him.

"Ahh, here he is, the man of the hour."

If Hadrian's stomach could drop physically from his body and bury itself into the ground, it surely would have. Instead it ached and he became queasy at the familiar voice of the very same man he hated being brought around. Biting on the inside of his cheeks, Hadrian raised his head to stare into the beaming face of Albus Dumbledore. And promptly threw up.


	3. Chapter III

**Updater Note**: I do sincerely hope I will not have to continuously reiterate this fact in sequential chapters. Yes, _Pawn_ was inspired by _Little Seer_. The idea of a Seer Harry (though well used by authors before myself), a rebellious resistance during a time of Voldemort's rule, and the ministrations of a potion to induce frequent visions all came from HuskyWalker. However, future installments will not be based upon HuskyWalker's own tale. Take care to notice that the division line between Pawn and Little Seer is being severed. Though, by all mines, continue to make comparisons of the two if you desire so. That aside, updates will come slower due to upcoming exams and a twenty-seven page essay I have yet to start —college is brutal guys. Now, to answer reviews.

To Gauss – I read Twist of Fate as well over the summer and fell for it. The overall plot of the story is so well thought of and she didn't she blindly ignoring the influential and important aspects of Tom Riddle's youth. Speaking of Tom, he is without a doubt the most complex and manipulative character I had ever read about. He reminded me of a young Hitler and Grindelwald—utterly charismatic, but also a threat to society itself. When I read through Ms. Rowlings books (for the umpteenth time since 2000) I was disappointed that she didn't show more of his past or even give a better reason for his twisted personality and prejudice of Muggles. Honestly, I did not agree with the whole notion that his mother's death and his being raised in an orphanage by Muggles was the solo primary reason for the brilliant insanity that conceived his persona of Lord Voldemort. So once more I agree with your insightful viewing of things – and thank you for the comment also, yours was the highlight of my night to say the least. Speaking of the Order and Sirius, I wasn't too impressed with the age-old idea of making them narrow minded idiots, but I also did not ant to keep them completely canon. Sirius's dunderheaded actions will be explained, but it is inevitable that he will be hated for quite some time.

To Stergian – I'm happy to hear that my Harry has potential, hopefully he grows to be something that will both impress and intrigue you immensely.

To Adeimar – Thank you for support and appreciation of chapter 2.

To sarsa13 - There will be slash, but until much later on in the story, but if I can manage to put in in earlier than my intended date, then I will. As for the ending plot, I can't so much for there being a happy ending – you'll only have to wait and see the outcome.

With all that addressed (I'm very sorry to those whose comments I did not acknowledge) please do enjoy, and Review, the third chapter.

* * *

Chapter III

.

"_Hope in reality is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torments of man." _  
― Friedrich Nietzsche

.

**I **

Moisture streaked down the length of his face, dripping onto his neck and soaking into the collar of his shirt. He turned in his sleep, a quiet moan leaving him and the dampened strands of his hair sliding along his forehead and cheeks. No, he realized it was just not his hair brushing gently against his face. It was something that was both cool and warm, soft and padding slowly along his face. It was rather comforting, soothing even for it made the spikes of pain in his head lessen into dull ache. His lips moved, mumbling incoherent words as he mind fought to free itself from the tangles of sleep and dream for the conscious world around him, too, was speaking unclear things. His ears could not decipher what was being said, even as they strained to hear past the pulse of his heart and streaming of his blood. The longer he laid there, immobile and at a loss as to what was occurring around him, the more unnerved Hadrian felt.

The gentle padding of cloth against his face came to an end, and he gave a groan at the loss. There was a pregnant pause that was broken shortly after by a small laugh beside him. Hadrian, sighed softly, wanted to lean into the fingers that were threading through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp and easing away the remnants of his migraine. Static words were whispered from above him, and Hadrian sighed, then frowned. The muddled words that he had been straining to hear earlier were clear and understandable, as though whatever barrier had blocked his hearing as been stripped down. Like magic. Hadrian's eyes cracked open, and he blinked a few times to remove the spots of black and white from his vision before squinting at the blurred-face figure looming above him. Slowly, the face came into greater focus and he cringed away from the smiling face of Molly Weasley.

"How are you feeling, Harry dear?" She asked with such pool of concern that Hadrian nearly felt bad for his deplorable behavior toward her. "You're running a slight fever, but nothing a good meal and a nights rest can't get rid of." She gave his cheek a small pat, straightened, and made her way over toward the entrance of the tent. "I'll be right back with something for you to eat – and you lot better not take much time on him. He needs some sleep." She stepped out with that, though Hadrian could still hear her mumbling to herself.

A throat cleared, and robes swished as the empty chair beside Hadrian's hammock became occupied. Hadrian turned his eyes away from the tent flab to the others who inhabited the cramped area. Sirius sat where Molly did, hands folded in his lap, and a discoloration in his cheeks. His hair, normally in a state of disarray, had been pulled back into a low ponytail, making him look younger. Near the entrance, a dark-skinned man without a strand of hair on his head stood beside a grinning pink-haired woman. They, upon catching Hadrian's eye, gave him a small nod. And, near the foot of the hammock with their heads bent together was Dumbledore and Mad-Eye. Hadrian scowled at their turned backs before looking toward his silent godfather.

There was so much he wanted to ask of Sirius, much of it consisting of why. Why would Sirius betray him? Why would he bring him straight into the hands of Albus Dumbledore, knowing that Hadrian distrusted the man and his intentions? Whether it was the bitterness of the realization that his godfather was selling him out, or that he was being condemned to a fate similar to the one before his mother's passing, Hadrian felt tears stinging the corners of his eyes. Tears he quickly wiped away before a sniff could leave him. He didn't want to give any of them the satisfaction of seeing him cry, even if it was all he wanted to do right at that moment.

Sirius, not missing this swift action, reached over and took Hadrian's hands into his own. He brought them to his chapped lips, sighed, and spoke. "How are you feeling, kiddo?" He asked, gray eyes bright with worry and concern.

Hadrian did not answer, not when his throat was tight with smothered tears and sobs. He swallowed back the lump in his throat and lowered his eyes onto his lap.

Sirius squeezed his hands. "I know all of this isn't what you had in mind, or even what you wanted, but I promise nothing is going to happen to you. We just need to check some things, Harry. Make sure that the bracelet _can_ be removed, and if it can't then we'll never ask anything of you again. You can live with Molly, and be a normal kid and never have to worry about a thing."

Doubt snuck into his system and ensnared his heart, stopping it mid-beat of hope and belief in what was said. He should not believe these people, not while they stared at him with hidden hunger. He snagged his hands back from his godfather, and tucked them beneath the blanket. Hadrian didn't want Sirius touching him, not while he was going to continue to lie so blatantly to him. He knew, just knew, that they would not keep their promise to him. They would continue to prob and poke at him, test and examine him until they've exhausted all resources and just threw him aside as useless. But wouldn't it be better if they just pushed him to the side once they realized there was nothing to be done about the enchantment binding his Sight and magic?

The prospect was almost too good to be true.

"Harry," it was Dumbledore who spoke now, his calm voice and gentle tone piercing Hadrian's ears like a knife. "We only require your cooperation -" Hadrian snorted quietly "- for the next few days. An old acquaintance of mines, Horace, has created new mixtures of potions that we would like you try for us. Nothing more than that to see if there are any effects."

"And if there aren't?" Hadrian asked softly. "What then?"

"Then we will further study the spellcraft surrounding the bracelet you wear. If the spell cannot be undone then we will work to find another means of removing it."

Mad-Eye grunted, the corner of his mouth rising into a snarl. "I don't see why we just don't go with my suggestion," he sneered, landing his magical eye onto Hadrian.

The pink-haired woman, who had yet to introduce herself, bounced over to the hammock with a roll of her eyes. "Because its complete nonsense and child abuse," she said with an airy sort of voice that seemed almost too bright, too happy for such a place.

"We can grow it back," Mad-Eye snapped.

"We're not cutting off my godson's arm, Moody," Sirius retorted with a glare to the stocky man. "We've already agreed upon my own terms. If the potions and spells don't work, we leave Harry alone. For good."

"What's the damn point of the boy being a Seer if he's useless to us?" Mad-Eye demanded. "What use is this child without his visions?"

Dumbledore raised his hand in silence, stalling whatever exchange of words Sirius planned upon, and settling the eyes of the room occupants onto him. "We will abide by our agreement, Sirius, rest assured," he began, his smile calming and blue eyes alight as they moved from face-to-face. "Just as our vow shall not be broken, so shall no harm ever come to Harry. We have not brought him here to be hurt, but rather to protect him from the dangers that may come from our enemies. With or without his visions, he will not be harmed, and he will always be of use."

Hadrian, not finding any form of comfort in Dumbledore's words, looked to his expressionless godfather for confirmation, but Sirius would not meet his eye. Instead, he gave a nod to Dumbledore and said, "As long as mutilation isn't involved and our terms are not broken, I see no issue here."

_But I do_, Hadrian thought, still staring at his godfather's empty face for a glimmer of the man who used to spend hours cashing him around the house. The man who, when hurt or scared, calmed him and brought back his smile. Why wouldn't Sirius look at him – why wouldn't he see that Hadrian didn't want to do this, not again. Not ever. Didn't his feelings account for anything? Didn't what he felt or thought have any meaning, or was he just a pawn to move around and toy with freely, only to be disposed of when he no longer was useful? It was a sickening thought, one that brought back a vicious throbbing his eyes and a groan from his lips.

"Didn't I tell you all not to take too much time with him?" The sharp voice of Molly Weasley demanded, snapping attention away from the discussion at hand. "Out all of you – yes even you Sirius Black – I don't want you causing this poor boy anymore stress than he already has." Molly stepped to the side, hands on her hips and eyes narrowed in warning to those who had opened their mouths to protest.

One by one they all slipped out of the tent, Sirius being the last to leave as he reached out to ruffle Hadrian's sweat dampened hair. "Get better, kiddo," he said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the thick crown of hair before leaving.

The spot where he had been ruffled and kissed seemed to burn, though not in an unpleasant way, but rather as a familiar sensation he gone some time without. Hadrian brought his clammy hands up to his face, feeling the coolness of his flesh beneath his inflamed fingertips, and sighed for he felt drained of all energy and emotion, though his mind still worked to figure out his situation, and whether or not he could – or would – escape from this place.

A cool hand touched over his own, and Hadrian looked up from his covered legs into the worried brown eyes of Molly. "Poor dear," she murmured, "your fever seems to be rising. Come now, lie back down and I'll bring you a wet rag to put over your forehead." Hadrian did not lift a finger in refusal when she gently pushed him back down, staring at her with dulled green eyes as she tucked the blanket back around his body. "We still need to put some food in you," she continued on, more to herself than him as she took out her wand. "Afterward though, when you awake we'll get you some soup and bread to fill you up – heavens knows when you've last had a proper meal in you . . ."

Hadrian could not put his finger on it, why this woman did not upset him like the others had, and why listening to her soft voice made him feel comfortable and secure in a place that was anything but. He could not trust any of these people, he just couldn't, but he also could not stop the sigh of content from leaving him as she placed the moist rag over his forehead. He could not stop himself from leaning slightly into her touch as she smoothed back his hair.

He couldn't force his mind to stop comparing her to his mother.

.

.

**II **

The world kept turning. As the waters continued to flow, the fires burned, and time kept running – life passed him by and he could do no more than stare helplessly after it, wondering where he had gone wrong. At some point in time, perhaps, he had failed to notice how tightly their hold on him had become, and how he himself had retreated into a silence not even he could understand. There was bitterness in the back of his throat, a foulness brought upon, not by the thick liquid sliding down his esophagus, but by a near-forgotten anger he harbored for the men before him. Twinkling blue eyes stared at him with such wonder and delight, like a child's, that it made his fingers twitch at his side. He wanted to reach across the round shoulders of Horace Slughorn and gorge out the smiling eyes of Albus Dumbledore. But, Hadrian could not even begin to act upon this vicious desire for his body locked for a thick second before releasing as his throat opened in a howl of pain.

Something within him had been set to flame, and he could not be certain whether it was his heart, his stomach, or his very soul itself. It hurt, that much he knew, just as he knew that his ears were ringing and his heart was racing to outrun the fire that sought to devour it. He screamed till his throat was raw, and his blunt nails were tearing into the flesh of his face in desperation to escape the pain they had inflicted upon him. His body shook, his limbs jerked, and his skin became a river of sweat that blanketed every inch of him. Hadrian did not know how long his agony continued – he never knew how long the potions would keep him under its devastating grips, but this time by far was the worst, and even feared that his very mind would shatter if this pain extended any further. His heart, now a violent storm of pounding away into his ribcage, shuddered as the flames touched it, and Hadrian gave a final ungodly scream before succumbing to the darkness that had tugged at his mind.

This brief escape did not last long as Hadrian did eventually come to once more, and he found himself lying on his back with remaining tremors in his system. Thin, spidery fingers twisted through his damp locks and Hadrian opened his eyes to stare into the green tinted face of his godfather, Sirius. The man's gray eyes stared back into his own with such a stricken, horrified expression that Hadrian could not begin to understand as to why when he felt a fresh, hot liquid slithering down the length of his face. Something wet seeped into his parted mouth and he quickly spat it out, disgusted at the taste of dirt and copper.

"Merlin's beard, Harry," Sirius moaned out in a weak tone of voice, his fingers trembling against the side of Hadrian's face. "You were screaming – and crying- and _the blood _-" his voice faltered, shaken and choked with tears the gray irises refused to shed. "I'm sorry, Harry – fuck I'm so fucking sorry! I promised you that this would never happen again! I promised you that I would never make you do this again and I – and I let them do whatever they wanted and now – now you've gone – and I -"

"Sirius," the all too familiar voice of Dumbledore said from somewhere off his right. "Understand that we did what was only necessary."

Necessary. How he hated that word. It was _necessary_ to force feed him potions once a fortnight when his guardian wasn't present. It was _necessary_ to conduct spells on him thrice a week when no one was paying attention. It was all _necessary_ that he be forced to sit throw their examinations of him, to stomach their judgments and words, because it was all for the _greater good_.

"Hurting him is not necessary," Sirius said, "doing this to him isn't necessary. He's a child, Albus. A child! Why would you do this to Harry? Why would you go back on your word!"

"It was only a small dosage, Sirius," Dumbledore explained softly, once more trying to defuse the situation. "Nothing that would truly harm, Harry, but enough to determine whether the spell binding his Sight could be tampered with to loosen its power. Clearly it had no effect as the bracelet is still intact."

"You – you're talking like this was just a failed experiment," Sirius stressed out, his shoulders shaking. "Look at him, Albus – look at what your damn _experiment_ has done to him! His face is – oh Merlin."

"It will not scar him, you sodding idiot," Mad-Eye snapped out. "Just give him a simple healing charm and a potion and he'll be fine – there's no need for you to go off and blubber around like a damn woman, Black. Besides," he sneered out, "I recall that you were the first to insist that we continue to test him when you brought him here."

"Only for a few days!" Sirius countered.

Mad-Eye gave a barking laugh. "A few days or a few years. It makes no difference. If you can't stomach a little blood and crying then you're not fit for war."

"Alastor, that is enough," Dumbledore said, giving the glowering former Auror a small glance before returning his attention onto the distraught man. "Many sacrifices must be made during dark times, Sirius. Regrettably, I did not keep my word to you, but I did so only because I saw the increasing progress we have made with young Harry."

"Progress?" Sirius echoed.

"Yes, much progress," Dumbledore said.

_He's lying to you, _Hadrian thought as he turned his head away from his guardian's hands, and staring mutely at the violet-haired woman standing in front of him. She rocked on her heels, gnawing on her lip in an anxious manner as her green eyes danced from face to face. She never did, however, look at Hadrian directly, and he figured that it had to do with the state of his face. Hadrian didn't remember what her name was, or even the name of the bald man who occasionally came around, but he knew they were tightly knit with Dumbledore, and if he wasn't so drained he might have even scowled at her for jerking her eyes onto him ever now-and-then.

" - how much longer do you plan on doing this to him?" Sirius asked hollowly, staring down into his face down hands. "How much more pain do you have to put him through before you finally stop?"

_Until they succeed_, Hadrian thought.

"Not much longer, I promise you this," Dumbledore said.

That was a rather vague answer, even for Dumbledore, but much to Hadrian's disbelief, Sirius mumbled "I see" and returned to trying to pet Hadrian's hair. He scooted as far away at the limited space in the hammock offered to evade his godfather's hand.

"Harry - "Sirius began to say,

"Go away," Hadrian said, pulling the scratchy blanket tighter around himself. "All of you."

"Harry, _please_, just at least let me heal you," Sirius said softly. "If you don't take care of it now it'll scar and – and you're still bleeding - "

"Go away. Now." There Hadrian managed to hiss out each word, stressing the syllable to make his point come across clearer: he wanted to be alone. But still there they stood, staring at him as they thought. It was annoyingly bothersome. Could they not see that he just wanted to rest after his ordeal, to recuperate and shake off the lingering essence of pain that had violated his system? None of the gathered adults made a move to remove themselves from the uncomfortably hot tent, but rather settled themselves comfortably where they stood and bent their heads together to speak. All except, Sirius, of course. He, it seemed, felt that Hadrian's words were entirely directed towards him and had shuffled off somewhere, leaving his godson under the eyes of Dumbledore and his brood. Had it not been for the shriek command of Molly for them all to leave him be, Hadrian was certain that they would have spent the remaining evening watching him. She, ever the fussing mother hen, took it upon herself to heal his wounded face when seeing the jagged and bleeding lines marking his face.

Hadrian, sighing softly at the cool touch of the moist rag, closed his eyes halfway and listened to Molly's angry muttering. Most of it consisted of him, the stupidity of men, and her own children's misbehavior. It was such a familiar list of berating that Hadrian no longer snorted at her choice of colorful words to express her displeasure for in the past three years he had become so used to hearing it all. _Like everything else, _he thought with a bemused sigh, and turned away from Molly in favor of finding rest, Yet this mind would not be silenced. Torn between the smoky hazy of unconscious and the insist gearing of his thoughts, Hadrian found himself staring mutely at a speck of grass on the ground and trying to push all thoughts of twisted guilt from his person. He knew that he shouldn't feel even an itch of guilt for the wounded expression Sirius wore. If anything, he himself should be the one throwing a fit of anger and trying to run away like he'd done so many times before. But, no, rather than doing anything he laid there and took whatever they threw at him without so much as a fight.

And, like so many times before, that sickening feeling of disgust with himself unfurled within the pits of his stomach, and Hadrian quickly doused it out along with all consideration of Sirius Black and his feelings. Pulling the blanket up and over his head, Hadrian closed his eyes and worked on forcing himself to fall asleep when the blanket was drawn back from over his face.

Hadrian turned over to squint at Molly's smiling face. "What?"

Molly, smile widening and eyes alight with warmth, leaned down and patted his cheek. "Happy eleventh birthday, dear."

.

.

Hadrian's birthday came and went quickly, the month of July ending with a small celebration and pats on the back. Just as quietly as his birthday had come and gone, so did the sequential months to come, and the by time Hadrian had come to notice the change in seasons it was already Christmas. Winter in the forest, though he would never openly admit it, was rather beautiful. The snow that gently fell down from the open gray sky, clinging to the frozen over earth and covering it in layers of white that remained undisturbed for only so long. The tress would become black and bare of all leaves, and creak under the weight of mounds of snow piling atop their branches. Creatures of the forest, both large and small, had long since retreated to their nest to escape the cold, but life still moved onward. And, as of right now, there were two things that Hadrian were certain of in life: he _despised_ Albus Dumbledore, and he wanted something to eat.

"Ah, Harry, come sit," Dumbledore said the when the youth walked into inside the tent, waving his hand toward the open seat before him.

Hadrian, wiping the scowl from his face, sat down on the straight back white chair and patted his hands together to remove residue of dirt and bark splinters from off his hands. Before Ginny – Molly's daughter – had called him away from his chore of gathering firewood, he had been the midst of a conversation with Neville Longbottom. Unlike the Weasley boys, Neville and Ginny had proven to be the only other children Hadrian could stand being around him for more than a minute. Quiet and painfully shy, Neville was horribly out of place in this camp, often times making him a target for the other boys.

"You must be wondering why I have talked you in so early," Dumbledore began.

Hadrian gave a shrug. "I figured that you had another potion for me to take," he said evenly. "Or even a new spell to counter this." He raised his left arm up with that, the thick bracelet gleaming in the filtered sunlight.

Dumbledore laughed softly. "Not in the least, my boy," he said. "However, there is something of dire importance I must discuss with you."

"Which is?"

"Normally, my boy, you would be joining the other children in training seeing as you have reached the proper age of eleven - "

"Training?" Hadrian echoed. "Training for what exactly?"

"To protect yourself, of course," Dumbledore said matter-of-factly. "We live in dark times, my boy, very dark times. With the influences of the Dark Lord spreading out, it has come to a mutual agreement amongst the others and I that you, the children, must be able to protect yourselves when we ourselves cannot provide it for you."

Hadrian blinked at him, brows furrowed. "So you're training eleven year olds to fight," he said, then snorted quietly. "Right. I see nothing wrong with that."

"I would hope not," Dumbledore said, not at all put off by the scathing sarcasm oozing from the black haired boy's words. "But, alas, though you are of age to be inducted into training with the others, ah, circumstances has arose and we will have to find another means of equipping you with other means of protection."

"It's because I don't have any magic, isn't it," Hadrian said, a hollow note entering his voice as he turned his eyes away from the pity burning in Dumbledore's eyes. His fingers grazed over the surface of his bracelet, nails scraping over the ruins, and he gave a sigh then frowned.

"I understand you must feel greatly at a disadvantage without your magic, but while you may be without it, you are still not vulnerable," Dumbledore continued. "Alastor has offered to teach you physical combat - "

"And how exactly is that going to help me against an attackers spells, _Sir_?" Hadrian hissed out, the corner of his mouth twitching upward into a sneer. "I really don't think that they're going to fight me with their bare hands alone."

"Harry - "

"Why exactly are you trying to train me, Sir? What's your real reason behind all of this?"

A solemn look entered into Dumbledore's blue eyes, and for a wild second he looked years older, more worn and fragile . "Because, my boy, I want to see you safe."

_Liar, _Hadrian thought, nails biting into his palms because he saw through Dumbledore's words and the true meaning behind them. This man, with his grandfatherly looks and deep set eyes, only wanted him kept safe so he remained out of the hands of his enemy. He would, Hadrian guessed, rather see him dead than used by anyone other than him. And it annoyed him immensely.

"Albus, we have a problem!"

Both Hadrian and Dumbledore looked toward the open flab where the haggard looking face of Arthur Weasley had appeared. The mans thin hair was in a disarray, his glasses crooked and face flushed with extortion. Albus rose to his feet and moved quickly over to the heavily breathing man, placing a hand onto his shoulder and steering him back out. Hadrian, after a moment, set off after them only to stop and stare at the dysfunction that had hit the camp sight. Tents had been turned over, cooking pots and pans strewn around, and feet pounding viciously against the icy earth as everyone moved. From where he stood, Hadrian could see streaks of vibrant light soaring through the air, curses being bellowed into the frosty evening sky, and screams resonated after each spell cast.

"Harry! What are you doing?" A large hand clamped down on his shoulder, spinning Hadrian around to stare into Sirius's face. The man's face, half masked by wiry black hair and a full beard, had been drained of color as his eyes jerked in every direction.

"What's going on?" Hadrian had just managed to utter out when Sirius pulled him along. Their feet sunk into the inches of snow and ice as they flew from the camp sight, treading into the forest where figures of black smoke darted in and out of sight. Sirius cursed, jerking Hadrian away from the line of fire. "Sirius! What's happening?" Hadrian tried again, ducking his head in time to avoid being hit by a jet of red light.

"Death Eaters," Sirius croaked out, voice hoarse and cracking with each panting breath he released. "They've managed to get past the wards Albus had set up and now -" they dodged another wayward spell "- they're attacking our camp."

Hadrian made no reply to that, focusing instead on keeping himself from falling over. Sirius, who was moving too fast for his feet to keep up, didn't seem notice much else as he kept his wand poised to strike down any offender that came their way. As they moved deeper into the forest, Hadrian could still hear the screams and malicious laughter of battle behind them, and the very sound of it all made him feel ill. Was this how all war was like? Pointless attacks and murderous intents?

"Ohhh! Look! Icky little cousin Black!" a maniacal crackle broke Hadrian's thought process mid-way, and caused Sirius to stutter in his tracks with a harsh curse. The man kept a firm hand on Hadrian's arm as they turned to face a trio.

"Bellatrix," Sirius snarled out. "You've got quite a lot of nerve showing your ugly face to me after what you've done!"

Well she isn't very ugly, Hadrian decided, but nor was she exactly sane looking. The woman, Bellatrix, had a crown of black curls that surrounded a pale handsome face. Her eyes, thick with dark lashes and a wide black, would have been intimidating, if not stunning, was it not for the madness that engulfed them.

She twirled her wand in her hands, head tilted back as she gave another crackle. "Aw, poor Sirry! Still mad I see! Oh yes I do see!" She said, dancing around the two hooded man who flanked either side of her. "So upset, yes you are! Does it still hurt little cousin? Does it hurt to know that I killed Icky Potter right in front of your eyes?"

While Sirius's face burned red, Hadrian's remained blank, impassive and stoic. So it was this woman that had killed his father. This mad, giggling, dancing woman who had brought down James Potter. He gave a small laugh for it was funny to think that his father, the man every member of the Resistance had hailed to be the strongest and the bravest, the invincible one, had been killed by her hands. It was almost like a fact that had been disproved. Sirius and the others did hear his quiet laugh, but rather Sirius pushed Hadrian away with a quick command of "Run Harry!" and fired the first of many spells.

Hadrian didn't need to be told twice, nor did he even pause to think about the well-fare of his godfather as he turned on his heels and raced off. Maybe, had things been different, he would have considered the possibility of Sirius dying, not because he cared for the man entirely – especially when one brought into consideration the hardship the man had burdened him with – but because he would be even more defenseless without a guardian. Skidding to the left and stumbling somewhat, Hadrian found himself in the old meadow. A circle of black and bare trees surrounded him, looming high above and vanishing into the low hanging gray clouds that obscured the sky. Hadrian looked every which way, trying to decide where he should run to – how he should escape from the fight that was occurring not too far from where he stood.

Then he heard a crack as ice gave away under the pressure of footsteps, and like an animal that had found itself cornered, his mind stalled and body froze into place. But, whoever was behind him did not take another step forward, but rather stood where they were, staring at his turned back. They were going to kill him, Hadrian figured. As soon as he turned around and they got a good look at him, they would kill him just for the satisfaction of watching the life leak from his eyes. He didn't move from his spot, couldn't even bring his fingers to stop shaking at his side as the person behind him stepped closer to him. Closer and closet they came till Hadrian could feel the heat radiating from their body, and even without having to open his eyes, Hadrian knew that they now stood before him.

There was a breathless pause of silence, the air going still and the cold sinking deeper into his bones as Hadrian waited for his inevitable demise. It did not come right then and there, and slowly, unsurely, he opened his eyes. Black fabric stared back at him, the hem spread across the snow covered ground. Trying to still the trembling in his fingers, Hadrian raised his head up a fraction to stare into the hooded face of the person in front of him

The man breathed out a single word that would send a wave of shock through his system

"Lily."


End file.
